Pinocchio complex
by Yessica-N
Summary: 5 times Connor was glad he isn't human and the 1 time he wasn't.


1.

Humans can be pretty... disgusting.

Connor considers this as he watches the Lieutenant consume what can only be described as an attack on his coronary arteries in burger form. Never mind the sketchy hygiene regulations he observed earlier, the amount of calories in Anderson's food of choice should be enough to fell any lesser man.

"Do you eat here often?"

He isn't sure what compelled him to ask this, but it slipped out anyway and the Lieutenant looks at him for a second before nodding.

"Most days. Garry makes the best burgers in Detroit." He says.

Connor thinks that statement is probably a hyperbole but he doesn't mention it. Instead his eyes linger on the burger's wrapper lying on the table, a darkish stain where fat seeped out from between the buns, and frowns.

He can't imagine eating anything like that. He can't imagine eating anything at all in fact, nutrients are a strictly human necessity and his bio-components don't need them to function.

And as he watches Lieutenant Anderson take another bite, sauce getting stuck in his beard and crumbs at the corner of his mouth, Connor is more than glad for it.

* * *

2.

Maybe breaking the window had been a bit overdramatic.

Connor didn't know exactly what had come over him, but looking through the glass and seeing Hank Anderson passed out on the floor with a gun next to him had sparked... something. Maybe concern would be the best word for it, though he doesn't relish it.

Concern is a human emotion after all, and Connor doesn't dwell on those, does he?

The lieutenant groans when Connor touches him, trying in vain to wake the man out of his alcohol induced stupor. So the android opts for drastic measures.

Hank is... predictably annoyed. He complains the entire way to the bathroom and Connor stays mostly silent, knowing his well-meant but ultimately logic-induced remarks won't reach the other right now.

A cold shower, on the other hand.

While it doesn't do much to improve Hank's mood, he sobers up slightly at least, allowing Connor to tell him about the homicide. The main reason he came, after all.

It turns out Hank's sense of duty remained mostly undisturbed.

And Connor doesn't mention the gun. He doesn't mention the sole bullet ready to be discharged.

The lieutenant reeks of alcohol, of stale junk food and the bitter smell of bile. He coughs repeatedly, hands cupped around the side of the toilet bowl and for a moment Connor just stands there, the clothes feeling useless and limp in his hands.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" He asks automatically, though the answer is more than clear from mere observation alone.

Hank wipes his mouth miserably. "Yeah... yeah- Wonderful." His brow is covered in sweat and Connor doesn't need his scanners to see the other heaving under the force of his stomach trying to expel itself. "Just a... give me five minutes, okay?"

"Sure."

Connor closes the door behind him, but even that won't drown out the sickening sound of puke splattering against ceramic.

* * *

3.

Things are uneasy for a while after the whole revolution thing. Which is to be expected, Connor thinks, it probably won't be evident for humans to simply accept they have to share their world with androids overnight.

There will need to be a lot of adjusting before everything becomes normal again. Or maybe it never quite will be the same.

He is grateful at least that the Lieutenant put in a good word for him and somehow allowed Connor to keep his job as his partner. It wasn't something he had imagined the other to do mere weeks ago, but now.

Everything is changing.

On the other hand, some things never change.

The assailant is on edge, the one hand holding a gun swings left and right unevenly, unsure who to aim at. Logic would dictate the human target as the most suitable. Bullets do them far more damage than they do androids.

But Connor hopes this man doesn't know that.

"Just put down the gun, kid, and we can all go on our merry way." The lieutenant mutters, hands steady as he aims his own weapon at the young man's chest and the assailant scowls, shaking his head just a bit.

"I'm not going anywhere." He says, one hand wiping the sweat of his brow and Hank sighs, probably inwardly resigning to missing the game tonight.

"Can't stand there all day-"

A shot rings out. Connor blinks, an unnecessary function, and then he's moving on autopilot, one swift motion. Fast, but not fast enough.

Hank groans as he hits the ground, head bouncing of the pavement unpleasantly and Connor can already see the red blooming against the shoulder of Hank's jacket. The assailant takes of running and not a fibre in Connor's being even considers chasing after him.

"Lieutenant!" He says, urgently and the man in question groans again, louder, to indicate he's still alive.

"Fucking christ-" His hand presses against the bullet wound and Connor had already requested an ambulance the second the shot rang out. Somehow he still wishes it were here quicker. He kneels down next to his fallen partner, gently pushing him down when Hank tries to force himself into a sitting position and his eyes hover on the other's face, asses his pulse and the pained expression in minute detail.

Non-fatal. Probably won't leave any lasting damage with near immediate medical treatment.

"It's going to be ok, Lieutenant." He says calmly, smiling in what he knows is meant to be a reassuring fashion and Hank frowns at him, something like confusion stuck on his features. He grins.

"I know. But it hurts like hell, Connor."

* * *

4.

"What are these?"

"Those are glasses, Connor. People use them to see?" Hank sighs as he grabs at the spectacles dangling in the androids grip, but Connor just holds them out of reach, staring at them from all angles as if somehow confounded by such a simple item.

"I know." He says quickly. "I just wasn't aware you had any sight deficiencies."

"I don't-" Hank begins testily, stopping mid-sentence to grab at the glasses again, this time successful in retrieving them from Connor's grasp. He puts them on, staring through the lenses to be able to read the small text of the police report in front of him.

Connor nods knowingly. "I see, Lieutenant."

Hank stares at him over the rims of his glasses, his expression somehow conveying an even mixture of annoyance and patience. Connor isn't quite sure how he manages to do that.

"What, pray tell, do you see?"

"My observation wasn't in a literal sense. I just admit to knowing that, with age, some humans experience a decrease in the effectiveness of their sight."

"Are you calling me old, Connor?"

Connor smiles, smirks even, and ducks his head. "Only in a roundabout way, Lieutenant."

Hank huffs, returning his attention to the papers in front of him and pushing the glasses further up his nose.

* * *

5.

The machine at Hank's bedside emits an even beeping noise. It's comforting, somehow. Conner stares at it, at the numbers, analyzing what they mean but somehow unable to grasp the results of his reasoning.

Or unwilling to.

"Hank." He says, softly, as if breaking the silence would somehow make this worse and the man opens his red-rimmed eyes, smiling through the oxygen mask when he sees who it is.

"Connor." He sits up painstakingly slow and Connor wants to help him but somehow it isn't his place. "What are you doing here, son?"

"I was just in the neighborhood." A stone cold lie, but one he is sure Hank won't notice.

He takes a step closer to the hospital bed, jacket hanging uselessly in his hands and looks down at the once formidable lieutenant. Confined by various tubes and cables and pale.

It pains Connor.

"What are you doing, sit down." Hank commands, gesturing to the chair in the corner of the room and Connor pulls it up to the side of the bed, laying the jacket in his lap and sitting stiffly, awkwardly.

Everything about this situation is all wrong.

"Well?" Hank looks at him expectantly and when Connor doesn't answer, gaze stuck on the iv in his arm, he sighs. "How's the case going?"

Connor relaxes at the mention of work. Something tangible he can talk about without touching on difficult things like emotions or how frail the lieutenant looks.

How human.

* * *

+1

The graveyard is silent. Connor walks between the stones carefully.

He doesn't get it. The human ritual of burying their dead is foreign to him, incomprehensible. But somehow he finds himself ending up there every week anyway.

A lot of the graves are decorated with various flowers and he wonders if it's bad conduct of him not to bring any. It just seems like a futile gesture.

Hank's grave is towards the back of the plot of land, empty and bare compared to the others and next to a smaller, much more fragile looking stone with a toy car on it.

Connor refuses to dwell on it.

He stands in front of the stone, at a loss for words and suddenly he's breaking. Grasping his hands together and trembling despite not feeling the stale winter air and he wonders if this is what grief feels like.

"I'm sorry, Hank." He says, to nobody and the lieutenant can't hear him. Can never hear him again, it whispers in the back of his mind. Pointless.

This is pointless.

But he stays, until the sky turns inky black and his components feel frozen in place. Until it's almost too hard to walk away again.

He can see it clearly. Hank balancing precariously on the back of that bench, the ground frosty beneath his feet, and then the gun pressed against Connor's forehead. The lack of fear. The even look on Hank's face at his next words.

"I doubt that there's a heaven for androids."

But he hopes there is one for humans at least.

* * *

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


End file.
